Free Game On by Calvin Slater Page B

that the girl had no reason to be spitting dirty on him.
    Xavier said, “Homeboy, you’ll know when I start worrying about something said by some ghetto heffa carrying close to a lousy 2.0 GPA.”
    Dexter laughed. “I’m hip. She probably can’t even spell GPA, homie.”
    The two boys were in tears as they laughed and kicked it back and forth the rest of the way to London Curry’s crib.

8
    XAVIER
    FRIDAY, SEPTEMBER 18
7:48 P.M.
    Â 
    X avier made it to the skating rink and maneuvered through the crowded parking lot. He whipped the Ford into one of two open spaces in the back next to a lamppost. Girls were everywhere, and as soon as they started walking toward the rink’s entrance, London was all up on Xavier, like homeboy had put a ring on it.
    Dexter didn’t say anything, just shook his head and kept his laughter to himself. Lately everything London had been doing was starting to deeply irritate Xavier. The girl was trying too hard to replace Samantha when just being herself would carry more weight with him. She was so lost in Samantha’s shadow it was pathetic. To keep it one hundred, nobody could replace a jewel like Sam. She was legitimately one-of-a-kind. The good Lord had indeed treated the world with an angel when he created a girl like her. And now she was in the company of a multimillion-dollar Major League Baseball–playing weasel who probably didn’t recognize a good girl from the millions of thirsty groupies that were open to do what it took to be down with him.
    Judging from the long line of young people waiting to get into the rink, you would’ve assumed that they were giving away free Air Jordans up in that camp. The show was on, with scores of teenagers looking to one-up each other on the brand-name-label tip. Cats with their pants sagging turned out in droves. The unusually warm weather for the end of September seemed like it had girls in competition to see who could get away with flexing the most uncovered body parts.
    There was a car parked by the entrance, a huge crowd milling around it—a few knucklehead girls had their phones out taking selfies in front. The closer Xavier got, the more he could see the white Rolls-Royce Phantom coupe convertible with the brushed stainless steel hood. He couldn’t remember the number of times he’d drooled as he watched the high-profile whip appear on the set of music videos. The friggin’ thing was the ultimate status symbol of success. And someday, when he had enough cheese, Xavier had movie-star plans on cashing one of these bad boys out.
    â€œOMG!” shouted London, like Sean “Puffy” Combs or somebody was getting out of the rear. She handed Dexter a cell phone and her small butt surprisingly bulldozed enough people away so she could get to the front of the crowd.
    Dexter and Xavier exchanged knowing glances. If London was tripping hard like this over a car, then they knew the little chick was destined to have a gold-digging reputation amongst the future baller crews in the D.
    Dex had a look of concern on his face. As he snapped off pictures of London doing everything but kissing the car’s grill, he said to Xavier, “If Samantha’s in there, then you-know-who probably won’t be too far behind.”
    Xavier looked over at the car and scratched his chin. “You think this is that clown’s ride?”
    Dexter rolled his shoulders. “Wouldn’t surprise me none. This icebreaker is only for Coleman High students. Do you know anybody else at the school who knows somebody styling with this much cheese?”
    â€œGood point.”
    â€œThat is a beautiful car,” said London. “I wonder who owns it.”
    Dexter handed London back the phone. He completely ignored her and asked Xavier, “You good?”
    Xavier brimmed with confidence. “Homeboy, she gotta make it do what it do. I’m not the type of cat to lose sleep over an ex, you